


It All Builds Up

by peachgrove



Series: The Epilepsy Diaries [6]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Epilepsy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Seizures, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:09:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachgrove/pseuds/peachgrove
Summary: Armie tries to keep his cool as Timmy takes his sweet time pulling away, forcing down a harsh swallow. The truth of the matter is Armie had serious anger issues before being in a relationship with Timmy. Like, needing counseling type anger issues. Fortunately, being with Timmy calmed this side of him. He hardly gets angry now, but when he does, it’s full swing, his old habits in tow. Everything pisses him off.orSometimes, Armie gets frustrated. And then everything builds up.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: The Epilepsy Diaries [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723651
Comments: 26
Kudos: 121





	It All Builds Up

Armie will admit that he may have slammed the front door to their apartment a little harder than necessary. It rattles the pictures on the wall, but he figures it does it’s job in telling Timmy he’s home.

He doesn’t actually call out that he’s arrived, simply out of spite. Instead, he starts unpacking the heaps of groceries he lugged up the stairs of their apartment in one trip by himself, just so he can have something else to complain to Timmy about. He’s in one of those kinds of moods.

Nothing seems to be going right, and every little thing is annoying Armie nowadays. His terrible day at the office didn’t make it any better. His well-developed patience was the only thing that kept him from lashing out at his boss after being screamed at in front of all of his co-workers. It was over something so small, so miniscule, but his higher-up will look for any reason to rain on his parade.

Armie has been working at the office for close to three years now, and for some reason, he’s only feeling the effects recently, specifically in the last two years that he’s been with Timmy. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he thinks it has something to do with him being the only one that works in their apartment.

That’s the thing about being in a relationship with someone who has a condition as serious as Timmy. Timmy can’t work. Of course he gets disability from the government, but living in New York, those checks aren’t enough to support their household. So sometimes Armie selfishly feels like he’s the only one keeping the two of them afloat, in more ways than one. 

That being said, Armie would never blame Timmy for the fact that he can’t work, but he finds his boyfriend’s lack of security weighing on himself daily. Armie just wants Timmy to support him like he supports Timmy.

“Stop,” Armie mumbles to himself, shaking his head. What is he talking about? Of course Timmy is supportive. He’s just being selfish.

Just as he starts pulling all of the items out of the bags, he suddenly hears Timmy’s soft voice call from behind him.

“Armie?” he mumbles.

“Hey, baby,” Armie says back. He doesn’t turn around.

Armie holds in a sigh as he hears the younger shuffle up behind him before he feels his gangly arms wrap around his middle and squeeze him tight. The gesture is meant to be sweet, loving, but Armie can’t help but feel annoyed. He’s not in the mood for the lovey-dovey shit at the moment.

“You didn’t tell me you were home,” Timmy says, his words muffled as he tucks his face in between Armie’s shoulder blades.

Armie’s jaw twitches. He doesn’t want to get mad at Timmy, because really he has no reason to be, but he’s just mad at everything right now. “I knew you’d hear me come in,” he replies curtly.

He can feel Timmy hesitate. Then he’s suddenly pulling his face away from his boyfriend’s back. “Bad day at work?”

Armie continues unloading the plastic bags angrily, but he tries to keep his cool. Timmy doesn’t deserve to get the brunt of his frustrations. “You could say that.”

He then feels one of Timmy’s hands rub a short distance up his chest before it slowly slides down again, past his belt, over his crotch. Armie watches with shortness of breath as the boy’s long, slim fingers fondle him through his jeans, trying to get a rise out of him. “I can help with that,” Timmy says almost shyly, but Armie knows this boy is anything but innocent.

Any other time, Armie would have accepted in a heartbeat, shoved Timmy onto his knees, and fucked his pretty little mouth until he came down the boy’s throat, but not this time. Not right now, when he wants nothing more than to be left alone so he can calm his temper.

The older grabs Timmy’s hand, pulling it away with a gruff, “Seriously, Timmy. Not right now. Let’s just get these groceries put away, alright?”

Timmy reluctantly pulls away, sounding discouraged as he mutters, “Yeah, okay.” Armie still doesn’t look at him.

He knows he’s hurting Timmy’s feelings, but he really just can’t bring himself to care. He needs to release his anger somehow, and Timmy just happens to be the one who’s in his closest proximity. It’s not fair, but neither is anything else.

Timmy starts unpacking the groceries next to Armie in silence. Armie can see from the corner of his eye that the boy’s face is cast down. He looks sad. And despite Armie’s relentless need to feel angry, he starts to feel a little guilty about how he treated Timmy’s kindness.

It’s when Timmy goes to place the milk into the fridge that Armie notices how pale he is, his curls matted and his eyes tired. He looks like he’s ready to fall asleep any second now, and Armie instantly becomes worried.

“Hey,” Armie calls as he grabs the neck of Timmy’s hoodie and pulls him closer.

Timmy goes willingly, looking up at Armie with confusion. “Hm?”

Armie can see, now that he’s actually looking into Timmy’s face, that his boyfriend most definitely isn’t himself right now. There are bags under his eyes, the color is flushed from his face, his eyes droopy. Something’s wrong.

He cups his boyfriend’s cheeks with both hands, but Timmy still looks away. “You look pale. Are you feeling okay?”

Timmy nods immediately, almost too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Armie analyzes him in silence. He doesn’t believe him. His lack of response makes Timmy look up at him hesitantly. Armie brushes his thumbs over both of his cheekbones. “You sure? You don’t look so good.”

“Gee, thanks,” Timmy chuckles, though the laugh is half-assed and forced.

Armie scoffs. “That’s not what I meant, dummy. You just look a little sick? Is something bothering you? You can go lay down if you want?”

Timmy seems to contemplate this for a good, long while. He darts his eyes away from Armie’s again as he thinks. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, like he’s going to confess something that might change Armie’s mood, but he seems to decide against it. He instead forces a weak smile to his boyfriend, almost wincing as he promises, “No, I’m fine. Just a little headache.”

Armie sighs to keep his cool. He will never understand why Timmy feels the need to lie to him about how he feels. It only makes him angrier. “Don’t lie to me, Tim.”

Timmy shakes his head within his hands. “I’m not,” he mumbles.

Armie doesn’t want to say his next words, but he has to know. “Did you...are you having any trouble with your epilepsy?”

Timmy visibly stiffens, but is quick to shut this idea down. “No! No, nothing like that.”

Armie eyes him for a second or two. He has a feeling deep down that Timmy isn’t telling him the truth, and that in turn makes him more and more impatient with the boy. He wants to confront him about it, but why would Timmy lie to him about his epilepsy? He’s never done that before. If he was having absences or partials or, god forbid, grand mal’s he would’ve told Armie. Armie is sure of that.

Calling his bullshit, Armie orders him away. “Why don’t you go lay down on the couch? Pick a movie for us to watch while I make dinner.”

Timmy is distraught at this suggestion. “No,” he says as he pulls Armie’s hands away from his cheeks with a light grip on his wrists. “No, I’ll make dinner. You’ve been at it all day.”

And Timmy is right. Armie has been at it since seven this morning. He normally would say yes, kickback on the couch while Timmy cooks up something he can manage with his shitty chef skills, but Armie can allow himself to do that when Timmy looks like he might legitimately faint any second now.

He tucks a curl away from the boy’s face, his exhaustion diminishing only slightly just by his boyfriend’s prettiness. “I’m just throwing some frozen pizza into the oven. I think I can manage. And you look like you really need to sit down.”

“But--”

“Timmy,” Armie warns, leading him away from the kitchen with a hand on the small of his back. “Sit. I’ll bring you some water in a second.”

\--

Later on after they’ve shoveled down as much frozen pizza as they could handle, they turn on a movie. Timmy instantly moves over to curl up against Armie. When Armie continues his relentless, stand-offish mood, Timmy physically puts the older’s arm around his own shoulders himself, humming quietly. Not quite pleased, but content.

Armie clenches his teeth in silence. It’s not that he doesn’t want to cuddle Timmy, it’s just that he really doesn’t feel like being touched right now. Like at all. He wants his space, his alone time. And with Timmy being right up under him, it only makes him feel annoyed. Plus, it’s far too hot to be cuddling right now.

Timmy makes a sound of confusion when Armie shifts against him uncomfortably. “You okay?” he wonders, sweet as always. It makes Armie feel like shit for what he says back.

“Yeah, it’s just really fucking hot and you’re all over me,” he huffs.

Timmy looks down at Armie’s chest then. “Oh,” is all he says. He sounds like he’s trying so hard not to show his hurt. “Sorry, I was just cold.”

“Then get a blanket or something,” Armie grumbles, aware of how mean he’s being, but unable to control it. “Your body is like a fucking furnace.”

Armie tries to keep his cool as Timmy takes his sweet time pulling away, forcing down a harsh swallow. The truth of the matter is Armie had serious anger issues before being in a relationship with Timmy. Like, needing counseling type anger issues. Fortunately, being with Timmy calmed this side of him. He hardly gets angry now, but when he does, it’s full swing, his old habits in tow. Everything pisses him off.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the TV as Timmy reaches for the blanket that’s hanging over the back of the couch. The younger slowly wraps it around himself, pulling his knees up to his chest and tucking himself into the opposite corner of the couch against the armrest.

A few moments of silence go by before Timmy apparently works up the guts to speak up again. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to cuddle because you’ve been gone all day.”

Deep down, Armie knows Timmy doesn’t mean it in any cruel kind of way, but when he hears the words come out of his boyfriend’s mouth, he can’t help but jump to the conclusion that he’s being passive aggressive, subtly calling Armie a bad boyfriend. And Armie would never admit it, but even if he did mean it that way, he’s right.

Armie scoffs. “Yeah, I was gone all day at my shitty job while you sat around doing nothing. Excuse me if I’m exhausted.” He says it as if Timmy has a choice in having to stay home, as if he wants to.

Timmy’s eyes are on his hands that wring together beneath the blanket. He feels so far away, both physically and mentally. “I...I didn’t sit around. I cleaned the apartment, did some laundry--”

Armie hates himself for what he says next.

“So you played housewife all day,” he says bitterly with a chuckle, tearing Timmy down. “What, do you want a fuckin’ medal or something?”

Silence ensues. For a long while, Armie is happy that the conversation has ended, doesn’t see anything wrong with what he said. That is until he hears sniffling from his right and turns his head to see Timmy wiping away big, fat tears with his blanket, his bottom lip trembling.

The guilt hits Armie like a ton of bricks.

“Ah, shit,” Armie hisses as Timmy hiccups. 

He scoots over on the couch until he’s right next to Timmy, placing his hand on the boy’s knee softly. He feels like such a dick. He’s taking all of his anger out on Timmy for no reason at all other than to be an asshole. He’s just being straight up mean, and it’s not fair.

“Timmy, I’m sorry, baby,” Armie says softly as he grips the younger’s knee. “That was...god, that was such a shitty thing to say. I didn’t mean it.”

Timmy chokes back a sob. He can’t meet Armie’s eye, but he shakes his head, disagreeing. “It’s okay,” he says so fucking wobbly that it shatters Armie’s heart.

“No,” Armie says as he shuts down Timmy’s fake indifference. He brings his hand up to massage the curls at the nape of Timmy’s neck. “It’s not okay. I was being an asshole. I...I really appreciate all you do around here when I’m not at home.”

Timmy forces a laugh, watery, sounding more like a sob that forced its way out. “It’s really nothing,” he says. Degrading himself, just like Armie had done not even two minutes ago.

Armie removes his hand from Timmy’s knee and grabs the boy’s hands that were currently picking at the other’s nails. He feels terrible for making Timmy feel this way. As if Timmy has a choice, as if Timmy can help it.

“It really is, though,” Armie promises as he squeezes his boyfriend’s fingers in his own. “I know you do so much around here, I really do. I was just being an asshole and a shitty boyfriend.”

Timmy glances up at Armie then, smiling sadly, the tears still flooding his eyes.

“Go ahead,” Armie says. He brings their intertwined hands up to his face and fake-smacks himself. “Slap me or something. Call me an asshole.”

Timmy only shakes his head with a wet giggle.

“Come on,” Armie whines. “Call me an asshole. I know you want to,” he says playfully, though now he can tell Timmy’s the one who’s not in the mood.

“No,” Timmy mumbles, bringing his free hand up to wipe away the last of his tears.

“Timmy--”

“Arms...” Timmy trails off with a bitter chuckle.

“Just do it. Call me shitty. Or an asshole. Something!” Armie protests lightly. He realizes that he’s trying to make this fair, to help his own self-esteem, but it’s not the same when he’s asking Timmy to be mean to him. Timmy’s not going to hurt Armie’s feelings if he says it.

Timmy sighs. “Fine, you’re an asshole,” he finally mumbles, still not looking at Armie.

Armie nods, agreeing. “Yes, I am. I’m such an asshole. And I’m sorry,” Armie pleads.

Timmy suddenly leans over to wipe his snotty nose on Armie’s shoulder. Gross, but well-deserved. “It’s okay.”

Armie starts to tug Timmy towards him. He wants to make it up to him. Give Timmy the simplest little thing that he wanted in the first place.

“Come on, let’s cuddle now,” Armie says.

To his surprise, Timmy shakes his head.

“Nah, I think I’m just gonna go to bed,” Timmy responds with a wince-like smile.

And, no. Was Armie really that shitty? Is he being that much of an asshole that he makes Timmy want to go to bed at 10 pm?

“No, don’t go to bed. I’m sorry, alright?” Armie says, though in the back of his mind he’s starting to think to himself that Timmy is being dramatic. Acting childish. Was this really true or was it his illogical state of exhaustion telling him lies to make him angry all over again?

Timmy pushes the blanket off of himself anyway, pulling away from Armie. “No, I know. I’m just...I’m just a little tired is all.”

Lies. Armie can tell in the shakiness of his voice, the way he won’t look him in the eye.

“Timmy, don’t go,” Armie tries one more time.

Timmy doesn’t try to make excuses this time. He simply places a kiss on Armie’s cheek and offers him a quiet, “Goodnight,” before he sulks back into their room.

And just like that, he’s gone. Armie is left all alone on the couch, watching a stupid fucking movie that he now has absolutely no interest in. But this is what he wanted right? To be left alone?

Before he can start pitying himself, he thinks back to Timmy. Curiosity takes over as he wonders why Timmy hadn’t stood up for himself and rather just resorted to waterworks. Armie knows that Timmy can be sensitive and that what he said was so fucking rude, but he would’ve expected the boy to defend himself in some way. 

Something isn’t right. Timmy is acting strangely compliant.

He turns back to the movie before he can get too worked up about it, deciding to give Timmy enough time by himself before he falls asleep.

\--

It’s a good hour later when Armie finally decides to venture back into their bedroom. He gets undressed and ready for bed in the dark, just in case Timmy is asleep.

Once he slips under the covers, he can tell immediately that Timmy is awake. The boy faces away from him and breathes evenly, doing nothing but laying there. It’s eerie.

Armie’s only on his phone for a few minutes before Timmy suddenly turns over, facing Armie on his side. It’s hard for him to tell in the dark, but he’s pretty sure Timmy’s face is still wet with tears, and he’s pretty positive tears don’t take an hour to dry up. He must’ve been crying alone in the dark. Nice going dickhead, Armie tells himself.

“I’m sorry,” Timmy whispers like he needs to.

Armie would shut his phone off, but its screen is the only light source in the room, and he wants Timmy to look Timmy in the eyes when saying what he does next. “Why’re you sorry? You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Timmy looks away, shrugging. “Want to make it up to you,” he then mumbles.

Armie furrows his eyebrows. Make what up to him? There was nothing to make up.

Before Armie could question this any further, Timmy was slipping under the covers, pressing his face against Armie’s cock. The younger mouths at Armie through his boxers, and Armie gasps in shock. He instinctively places a hand in Timmy’s curls.

It’s when Timmy goes to pull down the waistband of Armie’s underwear that Armie realizes how wrong all of this is. Timmy hadn’t even done anything, and now here he was apologizing for it. And not only apologizing, but doing so by sucking Armie off. And that’s just, no. No, that’s not right. 

Armie recognizes this behavior immediately. Using sex as a way to say sorry. It’s the doing of Luke’s previous abuse. And Armie will be damned if he lets Timmy continue this habit. Continue to think it’s right.

“Tim, Tim,” Armie says a little breathlessly as he pulls Timmy’s head up by his curls.

Timmy pushes back the covers and eyes him questionably.

“We’re not going to do this,” Armie says. Stern. Sure.

“Do what?” Timmy asks, genuinely confused.

“You’re not going to put my dick in your mouth just because you think I’m mad at you. That’s not right. I don’t...I don’t want you to think that’s okay,” Armie explains, hands still curled in Timmy’s locks.

Timmy frowns. “Why not?” he asks.

Armie feels lightheaded at the boy’s confusion. Even though it’s been several years since Timmy was abused by Luke, he still doesn’t know which dynamics were normal and which weren’t between them. It’s honestly so sad.

“Because you shouldn’t have to sex as an apology, baby,” he explains gently. “Hell, you don’t even have anything to be sorry for.”

Timmy still looks terribly lost.

“Come here,” Armie says, motioning the boy up into his arms. “Come up here.”

Timmy goes willingly. He lays himself on top of Armie like a blanket, nosing under the older’s jaw.

“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?”

Timmy nods absently against his chest.

Armie feels Timmy go limp in his arms, his breathing evening out. He isn’t sure when he falls asleep, but he knows it’s not far behind.

\--

When Armie wakes up next, it’s still dark in the room. There’s silence, nothing is moving. For a second, he doesn’t understand his surroundings. What time is it? What woke him up? In fact, where’s Timmy?

He sits up a bit in the bed, and that’s when he notices light coming from under the bathroom door. Oh, Timmy just got up to use the toilet. Nothing to worry about.

That is until he hears wheezing and gagging coming from the lit room.

Armie instantly throws the covers off of him, rushing towards the door. His heart sinks in a matter of seconds. He pounds his fist on the door. “Timmy, you okay?”

He gets nothing in reply, other than some incoherent mumbling. Having no idea what was wrong was freaking him the fuck out. Was Timmy just sick, or was he having a seizure?

Armie tries the handle. Locked, unsurprisingly. “Timmy, open this door right now.”

Again, no response comes. Armie is going to be seriously pissed if he finds out nothing is actually wrong with Timmy, but he has a sneaking suspicion that’s not the case.

“I’m going to knock this door down if you don’t answer me,” Armie warns. He’s hoping to get a rise out of Timmy, make him actually respond, but nothing happens.

Armie doesn’t actually have to knock the door down, so he doesn’t. He instead quickly grabs the key from above the door and turns the lock, the sight meeting his eyes making him sick in more ways than one.

He walks in to see Timmy curled up on the ground in a ball, vomit surrounding him as he trembles. Though he lays by the toilet, none of his sick actually makes it into the bowl, rather just splatters all along the wall and tile floor. Armie can see him physically shaking even from a distance, and his expression is terribly puzzled. He has no idea what just happened or even what’s happening right this moment. But Armie knows. He could recognize this behavior anywhere.

Timmy just had a seizure, alone, on their bathroom floor.

And worst of all, Armie can see him cradling his wrist to his chest, and he can immediately see that it’s bent in a strange way.

Timmy looks up at Armie’s presence with bewildered eyes.

Armie is instantly alert. He drops to his knees in front of the boy in seconds, though he finds it hard to quell his frustration that has only grown worse with the predicament at hand. Of course this night would just be topped off with Timmy having a seizure. Of course Timmy would hurt his wrist in said seizure, meaning they would be in an urgent care at god knows what time at night patching him up. Because why wouldn’t something else go wrong?!

“Timmy,” Armie says cautiously. “Are you okay?”

Timmy blinks blearily, but some recognition ghost across his face. “Arm…”

“I’m right here,” Armie promises as he assesses the situation and devises a plan. There’s vomit and what is probably Timmy’s piss everywhere.

Armie’s not sure who to be mad at right now: Timmy for not telling him that he was about to have a seizure or himself for not seeing the signs sooner. 

The thing that is really pissing him off right now is the fact that Timmy didn’t wake him up when he started feeling funny. Surely he had known what was going to happen. He had locked himself into the bathroom to seize privately, thinking Armie wouldn’t find out. Timmy never locks the door to the bathroom, so clearly he had some intentions in mind. And now, because of Timmy’s stupid actions, he hurt himself during the seizure. 

Fuck.

“God dammit, Timmy. Why wouldn’t you fucking wake me up?” Armie hisses, struggling to hide his frustration. This day just couldn’t get any worse.

Timmy looks at him from the ground. Lethargic. Distant. “Armie,” he mumbles.

“Sit up. Just sit up,” Armie orders as he helps the boy who can’t quite flex his abs enough to sit up himself.

Timmy grunts as he pulls himself up with the help of Armie’s hands on his shoulders. Armie then scoots Timmy away from his puddle of puke and makes him lean back against the tub that’s adjacent to the toilet.

“Don’t you move either,” Armie says with a finger pointing at Timmy. “I’m serious. Don’t get up. I’m not in the mood.”

And Armie can’t understand why he’s being so rude to Timmy, so mean. It’s as if all of his frustrations these past few years have finally boiled over and he’s letting them out all at once. The frustration with Timmy’s epilepsy, the tension is causes on their relationship, the underlying fear that they have of it every day. It’s sickening, and he’s had enough. None of this is fair.

He’s usually sweet to Timmy, kind, caring after his seizures, but he just can’t find it in him right now.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Armie says to himself as he starts cleaning the piss and vomit up with a towel. He says it loud enough for Timmy to hear. “All you had to do was wake me up, for fucks sake, Tim.”

Timmy doesn’t say anything in response. He likely isn’t understanding much of what Armie is saying, the confusion his seizure caused still riddling his mind.

When Armie turns to throw the dirty towel in the laundry basket just outside of the bathroom, Timmy yelps. He whips his head back around to see that Timmy had apparently tried to get up off the floor and probably hurt his wrist more while trying to push himself up. He holds his arm to his chest again, pain squeezed across his features.

“Fuck, Timmy. I told you not to get up!” Armie shouts, unable to keep himself from doing so. He crouches back in front of Timmy and holds his hands out. “Let me see it,” he gruffs angrily.

What happens next makes him sick. To his shear, bitter shock, Armie watches as Timmy flinches when his boyfriend holds his hands out to him. He shrinks into himself, closing his eyes, ready for an impact. It makes Armie’s entire world stop, his blood running cold.

Timmy thought he was going to hit him.

All of Armie’s anger diminishes then. He hates himself for how he’s been acting to Timmy. He’s probably scaring the living shit out of him right now. Timmy’s used to tenderness following his seizures, especially now being with Armie, and Armie just betrayed those expectations. And it’s scaring the boy.

“Tim, I’m not gonna…” Armie trails off, unsure of how to fix this. He grabs the boy’s chin lightly then, ignoring the way he winces. “Baby, look at me.”

Timmy hesitantly opens his eyes and turns back to Armie. Armie is met with Timmy’s eyes glistening tears, his bottom lip wobbling against his chin. He lets out one lonely sob.

“Mad?” Timmy whimpers. Armie just barely catches it.

Timmy isn’t used to Armie being mad at him after something like this. Of course he’s upset and confused.

Armie immediately shakes his head, moving his hand from Timmy’s chin to his cheek. “No, honey. I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry I’ve been so mean.”

Timmy hiccups a few times, looking down at the ground. Armie watches worriedly as huge tears roll down his face one after the other. Armie cards his fingers through the younger’s hair comfortingly.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” Armie questions. To his relief, Timmy nods. He was just frightened.

“M...My…” Timmy tries, but then shakes his head. He can’t get the words out.

Armie encourages him, waiting patiently with his hands still running through the boy’s curls. “Go ahead. Just try again, babe.”

Timmy swallows a few times as he frantically wipes a few tears away with his good hand, though it’s still quite uncoordinated. “Hand hurts,” he finally mumbles.

“Your hand hurts?” Armie revels, though he already knew that just by looking at the irregular shape of Timmy’s wrist. He doesn’t mention it, not wanting to alarm Timmy. Timmy nods back at him. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to go to the doctor so they can fix it?”

Timmy sniffles. “Yeah…”

Armie nods, standing up. When he goes to pull Timmy onto his feet, the boy’s knees immediately give out, and, within seconds, his dead weight is dropping to the floor. Armie is able to catch him just in time, grabbing Timmy under his arms right before his knees hit the ground.

“Shit!” Armie hisses. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

Timmy does nothing but mumble from where his face is pressed against Armie’s chest.

“Timmy,” Armie says a little breathlessly. “Get your footing. We’ve gotta walk.”

This doesn’t register with Timmy. In fact, it doesn't register with him when they’re on their way to the car either. Armie carries him all the way, Timmy whimpering every once in a while whenever his arm is jostled. 

Armie knows that Timmy tries, he really does, but once they’re in the car and a little ways down the road towards the closest urgent care, the floodgates open. He begins sobbing brokenly, leaning over the center console to hold Armie’s right arm against his chest. Timmy weeps into Armie’s shoulder uncontrollably, and there’s not much Armie can do to comfort him while driving.

“It’s alright, baby. We’re almost there,” Armie promises. He tries to be weary of Timmy’s sensitive emotions in times like this.

Armie moves his right arm slightly to put his hand on Timmy’s thigh. Timmy must think he is trying to pull his arm away because he grips Armie harder and whines.

“Armie…”

“Shhh,” Armie comforts.

“Hurts,” Timmy sobs into his shoulder as Armie rounds another corner.

“I know, honey. I’m getting you help, okay?”

And with that, they spend the rest of the car ride in silence. No noise other than the occasional sound of Timmy’s sniffles.

\--

Armie was happy to find out that Timmy actually hadn’t broken any bones in his wrist once and x-ray was done. He held his boyfriend's hand as the doctor told them that Timmy would only need a brace and that his wrist looked contorted simply because it was swollen.

Once back in the car, Timmy with a new brace and Armie with a new thing to worry about, it seems to hit him all at once.

This is so fucking unfair. He stresses every day of his life and now the one thing that is supposed to ground him, aka his fucking relationship, it tainted by Timmy’s disability. Sure, Timmy can’t help it, but that doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t take the pain away. He’s just so fucking frustrated that this is what he has to go through to live the life he lives. It’s never ending. Will there ever be one day that he’ll have with absolutely no stress?

Apparently having witnessed Armie’s inner turmoil, Timmy reaches out to touch Armie’s shoulder.

“Armie?” Timmy ponders gently. “You okay?”

Armie lets his anger through once again. “No!” he yells as he pushes Timmy’s hand away. “No, I’m not okay. Nothing is fucking okay! This is all such bullshit!” He punches the steering wheel.

Timmy recoils, breathing evenly next to Armie. “Well--”

Armie shouldn’t cut him off, but he does.

“No. No, shut the fuck up. Don’t try to say that this is okay or that everything will be okay because it won’t. It never will be. You’ll never not be sick. I’ll never have a day where I don’t worry about you. God, you always try to fix everything. You can’t just fucking fix it, Timmy. You never fix anything, you just make it worse,” Armie rants, not meaning any of it.

Timmy doesn’t respond, just looks at his lap.

“Seriously, fuck you, Tim. Honestly, you’re just…” and Armie can’t finish. Because Timmy is nothing. He’s not doing a fucking thing and here Armie is, letting all of his frustrations out on him.

Suddenly, Armie is angry with himself too. He can’t be here. He needs to get out of the car and take a walk before he loses his mind. He starts to do just that, jerking the handle with more force than he needs to, kicking the door open, just before a soft hand locks its fingers around his wrist and grounds him. They’re cold, they’re slim. They’re Timmy.

“Armie,” Timmy pleads from behind him. He sounds calm, collected.

Armie jerks his head around to look at Timmy with a cold glare. His face immediately softens when he sees that Timmy is looking at him with such sympathy and understanding.

“What, Timmy?” Armie asks expectantly, his annoyance still clear.

Timmy breaks eye contact as he clears his throat. He looks down at his hand around Armie’s wrist, thinking about his words. His mind is still jumbled, but he finally mumbles out, “Okay.”

Armie frowns. “Okay?”

Timmy nods frantically. “Y-You,” he whispers. “You will be okay.”

Armie feels a physical barrier instantly leave his body at Timmy’s soft but serious words. He means it, so Armie must mean it. The weight is lifted from his shoulders and relief washes over him as he looks at his lover. He’s sure of himself, standing by his words.

Armie swallows a lump in his throat before he can speak. “I’ll be okay?” he assures before he lets himself finally breathe.

Timmy nods. “Yes.”

The stinging then starts behind Armie’s eyes, and soon, large tears are blurring his vision. It feels so good to have someone say that, especially someone like Timmy. It means so much to him, knowing that eventually, things will be alright. They’ll get into a routine. They’ll get used to things. It would all be okay someday.

Armie pulls the door to the car shut as he feels a sob rip it’s way through his throat. Then, he’s leaning forward to cry into his hands, his head resting on the steering wheel.

“I’m so sorry, Timmy. I-I didn’t mean that at all. I just, god I love you so fucking much. And everything just builds up and I get frustrated and overwhelmed and--”

He’s cut off by the feeling of Timmy grabbing his shoulder with his good hand and pulling Armie close to him. Armie does willingly, putting his face into Timmy’s chest and crying even harder. It’s nice to let it all out for once, and it’s even better having someone there to comfort you through it. Crying alone was something Armie had grown used to before meeting Timmy.

Armie grips Timmy’s shirt and heaves as Timmy shushes him and rubs up and down his spine. “I love you, Tim. I love you so much,” he cries.

Timmy cards his fingers through Armie’s hair. “I love you,” he mumbles, wobbly. “It’ll be okay.”

Armie nods, agreeing. “Yeah. It will.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you guys so much for your comments and kudos! it really helps!
> 
> what should i do next? i was thinking maybe the struggles they go through when this happens in a public area? any more suggestions would be great!
> 
> i'm sweettimotea on tumblr :)  
> <3


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